


And in the end we go back to the start

by Livinelf



Series: Digital star [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), they deserve their happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinelf/pseuds/Livinelf
Summary: And as Elijah looks at him, Hank wonders what is it that he sees in this old weary man, whether he recognizes him, whether he wants to shake him too, whether he’s disgusted by him. He has changed, he knows that, but he’s lost his reasons to live three years ago so what does it matter how he looks like, how he acts like. What does it matter if he is alive at all.Or the story of how they finally get back together.





	And in the end we go back to the start

**Author's Note:**

> The happy end that was promised :)
> 
> All titles(series and both works) are from a song Digital Star by the band Ocean Jet.

Hank is tired. He is so fucking tired. Of walking, of breathing, of the android revolution and most of all of this fucking android with his puppy eyes and his earnestness and what the hell, when is he going to get some rest. And the worst part is, the goddamned machines actually seem to have a point.He still remembers Coles dreams, still remembers Elijah's promise. And the motherfucker has actually delivered. Or at least it looks like he did. Hank isn't sure if Chloe was what they now call deviant, but she was definitely different, and it is highly unlikely that such a similar change in other androids happened without Elijah's intervention. And he always did like to play, didn’t he...to wind them up and watch them run… Well now he’s got a fucking war on his consciousness. Hank hopes he’s fucking happy. He probably is. Also probably  _ fascinated. _

The hands on the steering wheel twitch, and the car does a little swerve that is definitely noticed by his companion. Detective android and all that shit. There is no way Connor will let this go. 

“Lieutenant, are you alright?”

He sighs. It was too much to hope for a quiet ride. 

“I’m fine, Connor,” just as always, even when playing Russian roulette. 

He’s still not used to anyone asking how he is,  still not expecting anyone to bother. And even though he knows that the figure beside him is just a piece of plastic, every single moment Connor feels more and more real,  more and more human, and every time Hank finds himself wanting to answer, wanting to be honest, to actually tell this goddamned machine about things that worry him, about things that  _ hurt _ . Not yet though, and definitely not now, because if he opens his mouth and starts talking there is no way he’ll stop, there is no way he will look composed at the impending meeting, no way he’ll be able to be  _ professional _ in the face of all the memories. 

They walk form the car and he’s confident, he rings the bell and he’s confident, they wait and he’s still confident, but then the door opens and there is Chloe. He knows her face, he knows her movements, her expressions, he knows _her_ , but there is no warmth in her eyes, no sign of recognition, and it hurts because she used to be so happy to see him even if he was only gone for several hours. She used to hug him, used to tug on his arm, used to _be alive_ and now she’s simply standing there, her expression...plastic. Like all those other out-of-the-box androids he’s seen, not like _Chloe_. 

It hurts, but he forgot about her for three years, maybe it only makes sense that she forgot about him too..although in her case the forgetting might be a little more literal. And that hurts as well, the fact that Elijah might have erased Hank from her memory, as if he was...temporary. Unimportant.

Chloe stands and waits, and if it is an introduction that is necessary then so be it. He has a job to do, and no fucking reminiscing is going to stop him. She lets them in, an ideal hostess - perfectly polite, perfectly welcoming. And perfectly fake. 

And then they have to wait. He doesn’t remember a time when he had to wait in this house, at least not in this room, a time when Elijah didn’t greet him, a time when he wasn’t...welcome, and maybe coming here might have been a mistake after all. The place smells..wrong. It doesn’t smell like home, it smells like..nothing. An empty shell ready for sale, with no life behind closed doors. It used to be so different. Hank used to love coming here, he used to love  _ living _ here. Cole did too. But that is not a road he is ready to go down, so he makes small talk with Connor, tries to distract himself, tries to  _ listen _ . Chloe has left into the swimming pool door, which means they about to get a show. This is a reception for cyberlife employees, for government agents, for annoying journalists, but not for him. Never for him. Until now.

He is right. And maybe it won’t be too hard to pretend they don’t know each other, because the man who steps out of the pool is a stranger. He wears familiar features, but, just like Chloe, he’s somehow...empty, and that is so wrong, he shouldn’t be empty, he should be  loud, passionate, incandescent. Hank wants to grab him, shake him, wake him up and  _ talk  _ to him, find out if there is still a heart behind all those edges. But that is not his right anymore, he’s made his stupid choice long ago and their time for talking is gone, the distance between them too great. 

And as Elijah looks at him Hank wonders what is it that he sees in this old weary man, whether he recognizes him, whether he wants to shake him too, whether he’s disgusted by him. He has changed, he knows that, but he’s lost his reasons to live three years ago so what does it matter how he looks like, how he acts like. What does it matter if he is alive at all.

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson. This is Connor.” The words he opens with are a script which he can’t deviate from lest he forget the purpose of his visit entirely, and it seems Elijah is going to go along with the charade, thank fuck.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” 

“We’re investigating deviants” he keeps talking, his words memorised, watching for any reaction.

“Deviants. Fascinating, aren’t they?” As soon as he opens his mouth Hank knows that he did it. That Elijah Kamski created a sentient race. There is no doubt now, not with that satisfaction in his voice, with that  _ pride _ . 

And then he puts Chloe on her knees and gives Connor a gun, and they need to leave right now. By now he’s seen enough of the goofy android to hope he won’t shoot, but it is still a ris, and risking Chloe...Objectively, he knows she is no different from any other android, he sees two other copies standing in the swimming pool, and he can‘t even be sure that this is  _ the  _ Chloe. Intellectually he understands that Elijah can take her apart and put her back together if necessary, just as he has done countless times in the past, but his heart still stops, his breath still stutters and he doesn’t know what scares him more – Chloe being damaged or Connor proving to be an obedient machine. They should not have come, none of this should have happened. He is too tired for this, too heartsick, and there is a wild desperate desire to step into the bullet’s path, both to save Chloe and to finish what he has always been too weak to do.

Connor doesn’t shoot.

Relief floods him almost like a physical wave, and he can see that Elijah is pleased, both at Chloe being safe and at the success of his own experiment, vain son of a bitch. 

Hank feels old, useless in this grand cold house of this grand cold man, a man he no longer knows, and the best thing right now is to leave and to forget, so he turns around and hopes Connor will follow. 

He does.

 

\----

 

The drive to the precinct is tense, Connor is clearly processing something, his LED bleeding from red to yellow and back into red, and Hank is... lost. The cold air outside has cleared his head a bit, but now in the car(especially in this car), with nothing to do, but concentrate on the road, the memories of the visit start flooding him again. 

Elijah. For the first time in three years he saw a person who was once his life and light and  _ home,   _ a person he cherished, and it was…wrong. It wasn’t Elijah who was talking to him,  it was Mr. Kamski and that distinction was never applied to him before. He supposes he deserved it.

And even though Hank is wistful and hurting, he is still angry at Elijah for pulling that shit with Chloe. A fucking Kamski test. Self-obsessed(absorbed?)idiot. 

“Would he have really let me shoot her?” It appears Connor is also preoccupied with that moment, probably analyzing it from all angles with his perfect memory. Hank is thankful his memory is faulty, happy that he has the luxury of forgetting, otherwise he would have gone insane years ago.

“I don’t know, Connor. Mr. Kamski seems to be a complicated man.” He knows what is coming next even before the android opens his mouth.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He wonders what would happen if he were to say no. Would Connor actually drop it? Probably not, he’s like a dog with a bone when he wants to know something. One fucking tenacious poodle. “Shoot”

“Did you know Mr.Kamski before this visit?” 

Hank exhales and the smile stretching his lips is bittersweet. “I sure did”

“What happened?” This topic of conversation actually seems to have taken Connor’s mind off of the events of the morning, he looks attentive, almost concerned and that’s one hell of a social module he has installed. Either that or he’s changing. Maybe not completely yet, but changing all the same. He had made a choice that directly contradicted his primary objective. It should have been impossible, yet here they are. 

“It’s a long story, kid” the endearment, even though unintentional, sounds right, it  _ fits _ , because Connor   _ is _ like a kid with his wide eyes and confused little smiles. He knows all there is to know about crime, that’s true, but what does he really know about people? About human nature? Life is not a thing that can be condensed into zeroes and ones and installed into the glorious machine currently occupying the next seat. It is not a thing Connor can know without learning, without experiencing. And he has been active for the grand total of 3 months, if that. What can he understand. “We were close once”

“Were you in a relationship?”

“Shit Connor, I need to teach you about inappropriate questions, but yes, we were.” He rubs the back of his neck and wishes getting drunk was an option, because this day is just too fucking much already. “Didn’t end well.” And then, both because he’s tired of being questioned and because he’s genuinely curious, he steels himself and asks, “What did you think of him?” 

The LED in the reflection starts spinning, and Hank wishes he could watch the android, not the road, because Connor’s expressions have started changing and he doesn’t want to miss a second of this transformation, and it should seem absolutely ridiculous that this android has so quickly become so important, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes sense that an old wounded grieving man will see a child in this naïve creature, and whether his innocence is a part of the intended design or not doesn’t matter because it  _ works _ .

“He seemed..interesting.” Connor’s speech is slow, like he is thinking and wording his reply, not simply responding with a programmed phrase. Good. He needs to learn to have his own opinions if all this thing about deviancy is true. “He was the first one to give me a choice. It wasn’t an order I had to follow, but a decision I needed to make while fully aware of the consequences of my actions. And even though this choice was not one I would ever prefer to repeat, I think the experience has been...positive.”

A positive experience, huh. Once this bullshit is over he’ll take Connor on some vacation..preferably very far away, to figure out what true positive experiences are like, and when has he started seeing any sort of future alongside this weird android?  There is no time for those thoughts, however, because right now they need to… what, catch Deviants? But why? Why would they catch those who just want to be free? And even if they do catch them, what next? Will they be deactivated? Hank doesn’t want that to happen, doesn't want a people enslaved again, doesn't want to see his son's dream disappear now that he knows that is what's going on. 

“Hey, Connor...Maybe we should leave those poor androids alone, you know? Let them have their revolution?”

“Lieutenant, your words directly contradict my primary objective.”

No shit.

“They might, but what if your objective is wrong?  What if the people who gave you your task are mistaken?”

“I was not programmed to question my orders, only to complete my mission in the most quick and efficient way.”

And that's the point, isn't it?  It might be what Connor is supposed to do, but it isn't what he's doing, and even the android himself seems to know it, his LED circling red.

And then they're at the precinct, and the only thing Hank can do is hope that in the end Connor will make the right choice.

He does. 

 

\---

 

After the revolution Connor moves in, and in Hank’s mind that wasn't even in question. 

Sumo is ecstatic, and that's not surprising, because the android’s arrival changes his life just as it has changed Hank’s, and now Connor’s there to take the dog running, to play fetch, to teach commands and give treats. Hank looks at them sitting side by side on the couch,  Connor brushing the thick coarse fur and telling Sumo about his day, and thinks about how very similar they are, his dog and his android, about how both of them saved him from oblivion. 

He got Sumo soon after Cole’s accident - found him in the pound, a tired hopeless thing just like himself. His life was empty back then and having someone who depended on him helped with moving, with getting up every morning, even sore, even hungover,  with going to work to earn money for dog food. Helped with not straight up shooting himself and only playing Russian roulette. 

And Connor... With his perfectly sculpted softness and innocence, with his strangeness, his  _ otherness  _ Connor has woken him up and helped him remember that there's still a life possible outside of being drunk, has reminded him that he can care about others, not simply tolerate them. 

It's easier now, living, even with all the vital parts still missing. 

\-----

 

The number on the screen reads Elijah Kamski and his stupid old heart gives a painful lurch. He debates not picking up, because that way he doesn’t know what the call is about and can pretend, even if for a moment. Can imagine Elijah is calling to invite him for dinner, or to show some new gadget, or to simply talk, and he has to stop right now because Elijah is doing no such thing, he is making a business call. Hank sighs, rubs his face and picks up.0

“Anderson speaking.” It’s his usual greeting and maybe he should have said something else instead, but the moment is gone.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” the voice on the other end is calm and sure, and Hank remembers those words laced with warmth, with  _ affection _ and it hurts again, in a place that should have been long used to pain.

“Can I help you?” he doesn’t know which tone to use, what to say, how to react, doesn’t know why they are still pretending. Doesn’t know if maybe he is the only one left who cares.

“I am calling regarding our mutual acquaintance. How  _ is _ dear Connor doing? The whole deviancy business must have been very traumatic for him.” 

Of course this is about Connor. Most of the things in Hank’s shiny new life are.

“I dunno, he seems fine, I guess? Kind of...spacey sometimes. Why, that a bad thing?” He’s never actually considered the possibility of some kind of malfunction and now that he thinks about it, he feels stupid. 

“It might be. Or it might be nothing, but it is worth checking, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, and who’s gonna do that? All those nice people at Cyberlife? Not happening.” There’s no way he’s taking Connor anywhere close to Cyberlife, not after what happened.

“I was thinking about offering my services, but if you’d rather go to someone else – be my guest.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Hank isn’t sure that is a good idea either, but what better choice does he have? There is no one more qualified for the task, of that he is absolutely certain, but Connor’s previous meeting with Elijah was...not an experience he’d like to repeat, no matter what Connor says.

“You can, of course, be present for all procedures should you accept my offer. It will probably make your friend more comfortable. And you can personally make sure I don’t...damage anything.”

Hank snorts. “Like I’d even know if you did. Alright, I’ll talk to him. And,uh...Thanks.” He thinks about adding something else, but Elijah obviously considers the dialogue finished, because the next thing Hank hears is “Have a nice evening, Lieutenant” and then the line goes quiet.

A business call. A fucking business call. Well, it really was foolish to expect anything else. It still hurts though, still feels like a rejection even though there wasn’t anything to reject, and Hank briefly considers calling back and trying to talk. But he knows that this discussion, if it ever happens, has to happen face to face. His hand itches for the bottle – a familiar comforting habit, his faithful companion in dealing with stress, and for a second he imagines how much easier everything would be if he just gave up and gave in. And then he pockets the phone and goes to find Connor.

\---

Connor is ecstatic. Apparently, Elijah has left quite an impression (no shit, after all he was the first one to recognize Connor’s descent into deviancy), and now that the threat of a failed mission is no longer hanging over him, Connor is  _ fascinated _ . Hank snorts. Like father like son. 

That thought stops him cold.

He has never viewed Elijah’s relationship with his androids like this. It has always been Creator-Creation in his mind, even with Chloe, and even though the analogy is somehow wrong it still touches something within Hank, something that remember Elijah as a caring father, something that desperately wishes for those times to return. 

 

\---

 

Hank is scared. Scared for Connor’s life, scared of trusting someone with Connor’s wellbeing. Someone who might have a reason to hurt him. Someone who might want revenge. It is a strange fear, born out of an overactive imagination, because Elijah has never been particularly vindictive, not to this degree, but then again he was never this hurt either.

”Do not worry, Lieutenant” the voice cuts through his confused thoughts “If I meant to do something to your friend here I would have chosen far easier ways. I did not need to invite him to this house to damage him, not in the state he is in right now, neither would I have had you along for his comfort. I am simply...A curious party. Interested in both the work of my successors(on improving my design), “ he spares a glance to the body on the table, “which was, predictably, unimpressive. And in seeing how far he can actually go. I have been lacking proper work for a while, it feels good to touch something serious for a change. Something that will have a life outside this mansion to properly appreciate the improvements.”

“What are you planning on doing to him?”

“Nothing that will hurt him. Certainly nothing he will not agree to beforehand. I am not a monster, Lieutenant, only a scientist, no matter what you might think of me. Today I am doing a full diagnostic to determine the extent of programming mistakes and physical damage, if there is any. Have I satisfied your curiosity?” Elijah’s look is a mix of amused and vaguely annoyed - an expression for lesser people, for those not equal, and Hank suddenly feels self-conscious, old, tired, depressed, and maybe it’s no wonder Elijah doesn’t want anything to do with him, not when he has become  _ this _ .

“Yeah, uh...sorry. “This is not the thing he should be apologizing for, not even close. “Professional trust issues.”

“Happens to the best of us, I’m sure. Besides, what reason would I have to damage dear Connor here? Or you through him? After all, I have only met you once, and our interactions have been rather civil, wouldn’t you agree?” His tone is casual, his words, however, are anything but. Those words are meant to draw blood, to wound, and they  _ do _ . 

Hank stares. 

He should say something, he  _ has _ to say something to end this fucking charade.

“Listen…”

“I am loath to interrupt you, but I have delicate work that requires concentration.” He glances behind Hank and raises his voice, “Chloe, please escort our guest to the kitchen. Make him some coffee while he waits,” his gaze returns back to Hank, eyes cold and hard. “I give you my word that no intentional harm will come to him at my hands, does that satisfy you?” 

Hank doesn’t know what to say, can’t even open his mouth, so he settles for a nod and follows Chloe.

\--

They end up in the kitchen just like so many years in the past, but the circumstances couldn’t be more different. Back then he was relaxed and comfortable,   _ welcome _ , right now he's an intruder in a house he used to consider home, and it’s his own goddamned fault. He bangs his hand on the counter and swears. 

“Please forgive Elijah, he has become prone to mood swings in the recent years, and sometimes even simplest words can trigger a reaction. There was no reason for you to trust him with your friend’s life,  not after the first impression he must have made. “ 

“It’s fine. Everyone has bad days”. It is not fine, not even close, but he can’t tell that to Chloe, who doesn’t seem to remember him, and that is another thing he can’t come to terms with,  another thing that hurts, one more reminder of just how much he really lost in that car crash. Not just his son, but Elijah and Chloe too, his  _ family _ . 

He wants to open the refrigerator to check if Elijah is eating any better,  but that is none of his business, not anymore, so he busies himself by watching Chloe make his coffee. 

“There you go,  Lieutenant. I hope you will enjoy it.” Her smile is kind and understanding, and when he takes the drink and smells it he knows just how it will taste. Just how he likes it, and it’s not the sludge he consumes at home and at work, no, this is a coffee he could never afford on regular basis, a thing he only ever had in this house. And that smell brings with it another wave of emotion,  a wave of memories, and how is it possible that Chloe knows his preferences without knowing  _ him _ ? 

The thought distracts him from his grief enough to concentrate. 

“Can you show me how to fix him a cup?” The question comes to him even before he consciously decides to voice it, and Chloe stills, her LED going yellow. 

“I’m sorry, I seem to be experiencing some malfunction.”  Her expression is confused, introspective, and Hank holds his breath, hoping for a miracle.  “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before, which is strange, isn’t it?” she looks at him, unsure, but still warm. The sun from the window touches her hair, the side of her face, bathing her in golden light, and suddenly she looks so familiar, so dear to his heart in all her calm graceful beauty that Hank has to hold back tears. 

“You could say we used to know each other.” It is bitter, and he wants to tell her the whole truth,  but this is not his choice to make - he was forgotten for a reason after all, so rubs the back of his neck and steers the conversation back to his initial request. “So how about that drink for Elijah? Wanna apologize for ruffling his feathers.”

It takes Chloe a couple of seconds to react, and then the smile is back.

“Of course, Lieutenant. Only I must warn you, we are not going to be making coffee.” 

“We aren’t?” They aren’t?

She walks to the counter and starts rummaging in the cupboards, pulling out what he assumes are the necessary ingredients. “Elijah doesn’t like it. Says it brings back bad memories.” 

Bad memories. Right. 

“How long ago did he stop drinking it? “

“October 12, 2035 was the last time I have made him coffee, and he hasn’t asked for it since. He has gotten very sick back then. ”

_ Right _ .  _ Sick _ .

“Did he...uh...recover?”

Chloe pauses again, distracted, hand halfway to a plain white cup. 

“I am...unsure. His vital signs are within his regular parameters, but his mental health has remained somewhat unstable with no significant improvements. I’m sorry,” her attention snaps back to him, and she finishes the movement, taking the cup and setting it down, “I’m not in the habit of oversharing. Your presence, however, relaxes me and seems to lower my inhibitions. I like having you over.” She touches his arm, a common expression of her affection, and then motions to the counter. “Shall we start?”

 

\---

When they return to the basement, Elijah is looking at the screen, his gloved hands bathed in blue, a thirium pump regulator between his careful fingers, and it's the strangest sight Hank has seen. 

He feels a little unmoored standing there, staring, and the image in his head paints Elijah a surgeon. A professional,  a perfectionist who has cut Hank’s chest open, removed his heart and sewn him back together with no one the wiser, only now Hank is empty where there should be warmth, and he isn't sure going to the same surgeon for help can fix anything. 

He understands this thought is a little insane, but the picture stays with him, Elijah in his bloody silken robe, magnificent and terrifying, and maybe this is a good time to leave the room, before his fantasies become even stranger. 

Hank places the tea on the table, and the cup rattles, deafeningly loud in the otherwise silent lab. 

Elijah glares, displeased, but then he takes in the offering, and something in him seems to soften if only for a second. 

“Thank you,  Lieutenant. Was there something else you needed?” Forgiveness. Oblivion. 

“I wanted to say sorry for doubting you earlier. My distrust was...not entirely reasonable.” He feels a little stupid saying this because it is the wrong thing to apologize for, but he isn't ready for that discussion, not yet. 

Elijah studies him for what seems like forever, and just when Hank is about to open his mouth,  the man finally responds. 

“Apology accepted. Now please sit down and be quiet, I am, after all, holding your android's life in my hands.” He smirks at the pump regulator, pleased with his pun, and then turns back to work. 

Hank moves to his chair and settles in to watch. 

 

\---

 

“Lieutenant, can I talk you to you about Elijah Kamski?”

God-fucking-damnit.

If there ever was one thing he did not want to discuss with Connor, this was it. Despite all of his naive expressions, Connor is very smart, very perceptive and very prone to asking uncomfortable questions, which are all qualities admirable in a policeman, but are very uncomfortable in a... roommate? What is it that they are to each other now? They went from open hostility (one-sided, but still there) to  _ this  _ in a span of several days, and Hank is aware that his attachment to the android might not be exactly healthy. But he still feels.. Responsible for Connor?  For his well-being, for his happiness, and the last time he has felt anything similar was years ago, back when Cole was still.. He almost shies away from the comparison between Connor and his son, aware of the wrongness of it, of the weirdness, but just as aware of the parallels his stupid old heart has made without his consent. 

Hank sighs  and mourns the relaxing evening he was about to have. 

“What do you wanna know?” He turns a little and readjusts his position on the couch facing the android, ready for a long discussion. 

Connor mirrors his move and grows quiet, LED yellow. 

“Can you tell me about the extent of your relationship? I have checked the registry and there is no marriage certificate so I assume it must not have gotten that far, still,  your presence elicits a very strong emotional response which might evidence strong attachment, just as your reaction to my current words.” he pauses and tilts his head, frowning. “I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” 

No shit, Sherlock. 

“Yes, Connor, you are, but that ain't new, is it?” He pats the plastic knee closest to him and gets ready for opening old wounds with a broken Swiss army knife. “We never had time to get married. Cole wanted a summer wedding. Was real excited, planned to have so many flowers… God, he loved flowers. Flowers and robots, his two big passions.” He is staring at the floor now, memories flooding to the surface easily, willingly, as if they've been lying in wait and were now finally free, and Connor doesn't even need to ask any questions, he just needs to be quiet and wait. “And dogs. He wanted a dog, you know. A big one just like Sumo. We planned to surprise him for Christmas, but it never did work out, did it…”

He glances in the direction of the kitchen, his mind itching for the bottle to ease the pain,  but the android suddenly moves and grabs his hand, an awkward gesture of support which Hank still appreciates, a gentle reminder that times are different now, and that the easy way out is no longer available. 

“Cole was adopted. I'm not sure what it says on the papers,  Elijah was the one who figured those out, but I think he didn't include his own name there.. He was always worried about his popularity creating too many problems for those around him, me and Gavin included. Cole wouldn't have minded though. He was always so proud of Elijah. So so proud…”

He doesn't know how to fix his slip about Reed, not when it's already out, and then one of Connor's phrases finally connects and he snaps out of his reminiscing, sitting up straighter.

“Wait, what do you mean his reaction to my presence? Is there something I'm missing here?”

Connor looks momentarily thrown off by the change of pace and tone of the conversation, but quickly recovers. 

“Yes, the easiest thing for me to spot are heartbeat and stress levels, both of which increase in your presence, which-”

“But he's always so calm!”

“My data suggests otherwise. Mr.Kamski is simply very skilled in appearing unaffected.”

He most certainly is. But which is it that Elijah feels - anger or something else? 

“Why did you part?” Connor’s tone is careful,  he knows the topic is sensitive.

“Because our son died and I'm an idiot, end of story. That's it, Connor, heart to heart over…” he frowns and waves a hand in the direction of the android’s chest, “or heart to thirium pump..whatever. Did I satisfy your curiosity?”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, this discussion has been most enlightening.”

“Jesus, kid, drop the title! Hank's fine, we're at home after all.”

“Alright, Hank,” Connor is smiling now, and that smile helps, even though he feels raw and bruised, and this android is probably the best thing that could have happened to him, besides one lucky bullet. 

Hank sighs and gets up, tired, heavy and hurt. 

“Come on, kid. Let's take Sumo for a walk.”

 

\---

 

It becomes a routine, Connor sitting on the big examination table, one of Elijah's arms up to His wrist in the androids shiny blue insides, and that sight is no longer strange or off-putting, but instead familiar,  _ comfortable.  _ It reminds Hank of happier times, of treating Cole’s scraped knees or bloody nose, and he finds himself relaxing into the familiar atmosphere even though nothing is exactly the same.

The day he catches himself smiling at Elijah’s expression is the day he thinks maybe he should stop coming here at all. Connor seems comfortable enough in his creator’s company, so his presence is no longer necessary, and maybe it is time to put his old feelings to rest again, to wrestle them into a box and shove it into the garage, just like he’s done with all other things that had anything to do with Elijah. He’s lived without him for three years, he can live without him again.

It is then that there is a careful tough on his arm and he jerks to find Chloe behind him. 

“Can I talk to you, Lieutenant?”

“Chloe?” Elijah looks up from his work, surprised. ”Where are you planning on taking our guest?”

“To the library, Elijah. I’d like to discuss some difficulties of living with an android, after all some are more familiar with it than others.” She looks honest and earnest and this expression reminds him of Connor’s fake innocence so much that he doesn’t believe it for a second. 

Connor’s LED gives a couple of yellow spins and Hank doesn’t know whether it’s the androids communicating or simply him thinking, but it goes blue afterwards, so apparently everything is fine as far as he’s concerned. Elijah though..there is no way Elijah doesn’t know that something is off. His face that was so easy to read years ago, is now a mask, but Hank thinks there is some strange trace of vulnerability there, some uncertainty, and it’s the first hint of conflict from this Elijah yet.

His first impulse is to object - after all, he’s lived with androids for longer than most, what would they need to discuss, but as soon as he opens his mouth, the grip on his arm tightens - a warning and a request, which he cannot refuse.

“Do be careful, Chloe, it might be wise to avoid revealing something too personal,  after all, Lieutenant seems perfectly happy living with dear Connor, and we wouldn't want to upset him, yes?”

Elijah is calm again, cool and collected, and there is no way for Hank to determine if there is a hidden meaning behind the phrase. Chloe doesn't seem to have the same problem because she smiles and gives a little bow. 

“Of course, Elijah. We won't be long.”

She pulls and Hank follows. 

\---

“I'm sorry for dragging you away from your friend, Lieutenant, but there is something I must show you.”

Chloe takes him to one of the guest bedrooms, which has never been occupied in all the time Hank has lived in the house, but now it looks like someone actually uses it, and there are not many options who that someone might be. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” He walks in, slow and careful not disturb anything and pauses by a chair, slides his fingers over the black silken robe hanging off of its back, not touching, just...  _ wanting _ . “I think he'd be against me being here.”

“You are probably right, but I think you need to see this, even if it is something Elijah would prefer to hide.” She moves to the little desk by the window, caresses the wood and smiles, and it is a sad smile that doesn't sit right on her face, which is so often bright and open. “I'm worried about him. And I think he's making a mistake.” She pulls out the top drawer and motions for him to come closer. “Please take a look.”

Hank hasn't seen many cases in which Chloe went against Elijah's will,  so this must be really important for her. It does, however, still feel like a breach of privacy, and that makes him hesitant and uncomfortable, unsure of his right to see things the secretive man keeps so close to his heart. 

“I am not sure what exactly happened in your past, Lieutenant, but I know it was important.” She looks worried now, distressed by his doubts, eyes pleading. “I am missing years of my life, and what I do remember shows me a contrast between a driven young man I first saw when I opened my eyes and this empty creature Elijah has become, and I think you might be able to fix him.”

Yeah, more like break him even further. As if the last time hasn't been enough. 

“If he really didn't want you to see this, he would have expressly forbidden it, which he did not.”

It is the argument  that help Hank come to a decision,  because she is right, Elijah is smart enough to do that, so he takes a few steps and glances inside. 

The drawer is full of memories. 

He sees his old watch, the badge he proposed with, his old phone that he regretted throwing away, with the red “running out of charge” light still blinking, and how is that possible, unless Elijah has been charging it? It had taken so many pictures, witnessed so many happy moments, and Hank's hand reaches forward of its own accord, but he can't, he wasn't allowed. 

He is frozen in place, his heart hammering in his ears, unable to come closer, unable to look away, taking in the remnants of a different life, life filled with light and warmth. 

There is the little blue robotic dog that Elijah made together with Cole for the boy's fifth birthday, and Hank still remembers its loud annoying bark, but now it's just standing there, lifeless,  LED grey and dead, and he wants to turn it on, wants it to light up in his hands, wants to hear it just one last time. 

There are printed photographs there too, but he can only see the top one, the one Elijah took on their first morning together, both of them young, both of them content, both of them  _ in love _ and it feels impossible that this has been him, that he has ever been so alive. 

The gun is a dark spot in the middle of a dream, and Hank wonders if it's the one he gave Connor to shoot Chloe, wonders why it's here at all. 

“He has been so broken.” Her voice startles him out of his daze,  and if it was anyone else he would have been angry to be interrupted, but this is Chloe, she is  _ family _ , she is alright. “I have asked him to make me friends,  because I was lonely. In truth it was an attempt to keep him busy, to keep him sane, and I am not sure it worked, because he just… made more of me. It was strange for a while, but I got used to it.” She smiles, and this time it's a little lighter. “We're good friends now all of us, and we like to pretend we're sisters, which is not so far from the truth after all.  I think it pleases Elijah to have some...company. not to talk to, but just… background noise. I believe he finds it comforting. I believe it reminds him of you.”

This is when he realizes that the surgeon didn't simply remove his heart - he exchanged it for his own, which Hank broke it into a million tiny pieces, and he’s got only himself to blame for being empty, not the surgeon. He is the one at fault, and even though he has always known it was he who made the mistake, he forgot to try and fix it.

“Thank you, Chloe.” His voice is rough and scratchy, and he is thankful he got to see the evidence of Elijah’s feelings. 

“Thank  _ you _ , Lieutenant. I hope you will be able to help.”

He doesn't try that day. 

 

\--

 

The precinct is a bleak place now - has been for years, a place where he is surrounded by ghosts of warmth and friendship. It used to be so different. There was a time when he was loved here, a time he was  _ wanted,  _ but it seems like all of that happened in a different life with some other Hank Anderson, a person who could relax and let himself be happy.

At least now, it has Connor - a beacon of smiles and warmth in the middle of all the indifference, or, in some cases, hostility.

So far the android has managed to stay quiet about their visits to the Kamski mansion, and every time someone curious asks what he does with his weekends, he just shrugs and says maintenance. Technically, it is the truth.

And then one day Connor slips, or maybe he does it on purpose, the meddler. 

Hank is busy with their current investigation, the android sorting through the relevant files at his desk, and the precinct is empty at the late hour, except for Reed, who’s in turn either pacing or furiously typing, so when Connor opens his mouth, Hank expects his words to be quiet, private.  Instead, his question is loud, and there is no reason for that volume, except on purpose.

“Lieutenant,  are we going to Mr.Kamski this weekend?” Motherfucker. 

There’s a bang and then a hissed curse from Reed’s direction, and God help anyone who ever mistakes Connor for simple, because he's the shrewdest bastard Hank has ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

The man is rubbing his knee now, annoyed, and Hank can't help but stare at his every move, every single change in his expression. 

Gavin. 

This is another person Hank had lost in that car crash. Another thing he has exchanged for the bottle. Another forgiveness he can not expect to earn back. Another  _ mistake _ .

At first, after the accident, Gavin tried to help - tried to comfort him, tried words of compassion, and all of those attempts of support were probably very new for him, and very uncomfortable, but he tried anyway. For Hank. For his friend. And when niceness didn’t work he began snapping Hank out of his drunken stupor with rudeness, with aggression. It didn’t work either, because Hank didn’t fight back. Didn’t respond. Didn’t react at all, too out of his mind with grief and strong alcohol to care. So Gavin gave up. Reverted to his usual cold persona, and Hank can’t blame him, can only ever blame himself. 

He only has a handful of memories from back then, but Gavin’s face is in most of them. Gavin's lost face. Gavin's desperate face. Gavin's  _ hurt _ face. And finally the expressions Hank keeps seeing to this day - the annoyed one. The angry one. The vicious one. Gavin is cold now. Cruel. And Hank doesn’t know if there’s a warm heart there anymore, or if he has single-handedly destroyed it.

“Lieutenant!” 

This exclamation finally snaps Hank out of his misery, and he finds Connor studying him, probably noting his elevated stress levels or something. Bastard.

“Lieutenant, are you alright? I have addressed you several times, but-”

“Stop worrying, Connor, I’m fine. And yes, we are going to Mr. Kamski.” He looks at Connor’s idle hands and decides he doesn’t want to see what other tricks the android can try and pull. “Anyway, don’t you have some work to do, or are we staying here this late for fun?”

It backfires. Badly. Because Connor’s face lights up with a smile, and he gets up, carefully rolls his chair back into its place, fixes his goddamned tie and speaks, and Hank knows that whatever it is he’s not going to like it.

“You are correct, and my further research requires some time in the archives. Is there something you need me to take there?” He throws a meaningful glance at the stack of folders, but Hank is too tired and annoyed to deal with shuffling papers so he waves the android in the direction of the basement and watches him leave. 

“You ever gonna tell me you’re visiting Elijah again?” When Hank turns back Reed is already in front of his desk,  hands folded on his chest, face hostile. “Or what, am I not good enough?”

“Is this an interrogation? Was I supposed to tell you?” Hank turns back to his documents, trying to keep both his face and his voice passive and bored - the usual reaction to Gavin’s goading, but his heart is speeding up at the painful realization that this is the first non-work related interaction between them that he’s going to clearly remember.

“It would have been nice to know, yes. You know, ‘Gavin, family’s back together, wanna join?’ That kind of thing?” It seems a little envious, a little jealous, and how could Hank have been so blind not to notice the pain behind Gavin's anger? It used to be so easy to read Gavin, his heart an open book,  but that was before, in what seems like a previous life. “So what did my brother do to deserve your attention after so long?” 

“We're not really communicating, alright?” And doesn't that hurt every single time.“He’s just fixing Connor.”

“Oh so it’s about that tin can again, huh? What an unexpected surprise! Seems like everything here is about him lately.” So he’s noticed too. “So what, you’re gonna talk to my brother and not me?” He's serious,  serious and hurt, and Hank is suddenly tired of the unexpected accusations, after all, Gavin has been nothing if not unpleasant for the past years. 

“I talk to you every goddamned day, Reed and, as you might remember, it ain’t pretty.”

Gavin slams his hands on the desk, scattering a few folders, and leans closer, furious. “This is not what I’m talking about, you bastard. I’m talking about fucking apologizing. Or do I not deserve that? What did I even fucking do? You got hurt, fucked everyone up in response and then what? Found yourself a nice little android to soothe your soul?” He’s pointing in the direction of the archives, his hand shaking. “Not all of us are that lucky, Anderson!”

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk.” It's not the whole truth. In fact, the thought of trying to talk to Reed after sobering up hasn't occurred to him once, and it should have. Shame has never been an emotion he particularly enjoyed for all that he's been feeling it almost every day for years. 

“Yeah right...why would I,” Reed is bitter now, his expression resigned, and Hank knows his next words before they leave his mouth. “You know what,  _ Lieutenant _ ?” It is a sneer,  and then the man straightens, his intentions clear. “Forget it. For-fucking-get it.” And Hank cannot let him go, not like this, not after seeing the pain underneath the anger. 

“Gavin, wait.” 

Reed halts mid-motion, probably more of a reaction to the name than the request itself, and it's enough time for Hank to get up and come closer, and then he's grabbing Gavin by the shoulder and pulling him into an embrace. There is almost no resistance, but the figure in his arms is tense and unmoving. 

“I'm so sorry.” He is, and he should have said this a long time ago, but better late than never. 

“Are you?” It is quiet and displeased, more of a grumble than actual anger. 

“I am, kid.” he tightens his hold and leans his head against Gavin's hair. “And I'm not going anywhere.”

They stand like that for a little bit, and at some point Gavin sighs and leans in, relaxing. 

“How is he?”

“Why don't you ask him yourself?”

“Like he'd even tell me, the bastard. You were the only one he ever truly opened up to. Our very own Elijah-whisperer.” He snorts at his own joke before continuing, “Besides, I've stopped talking to him years ago. Had a huge fight about hurting you, even punched him once. Thought he might have finally done something really shitty.”

Gavin fought with Elijah? Because of  _ him _ ?

“Did he tell you he didn't do anything?”

“He tried. Didn't believe him though, he can be a very convincing liar,” and now Hank is staring, speechless at the man who believed  _ him _ over his own brother. And he repaid that trust by abandoning him,  way to fucking go, Anderson. 

“Well, he wasn't lying.”

“I figured.”

“Hey, kid?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for trying to look after me.”

“Didn't work so well. You need a haircut. Also maybe a shave.”

And Hank can't help but smile, the warmth in his heart burning ever brighter. 

Gavin pulls away then, dusts off the imaginary dirt on his sleeves, looks up straight into Hanks eyes and smirks, and for the first time in years it’s not malicious but soft instead.

“Alright, old man, that’s enough for one time, I gotta go now. It's late and some of us need their beauty sleep.” He pats Hank’s shoulder and winks as ridiculously as ever, then shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to leave, and Hank just keeps on staring at the retreating back in helpless affection. It seems this cat has decided it has been pleasant enough for a single discussion. Now come the claws. 

He’s right, and he watches Gavin twist his head a little to the side to share his parting words. “Don’t relax yet, I’m still pissed!”

Of course he is.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Gavin! Wouldn’t dream of it.” The last one is more of a whisper to himself, and just as he starts moving to get back to work, there’s another yell, already almost from the reception area.

“Talk to Elijah, idiot!”

It’s probably the best advice he’s heard in a while.

There are quiet footsteps behind him then, and he turns just in time to see Connor place a couple of folders oh his desk.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” The android’s face is calm and inquisitive and so goddamned fake.

Hank shakes his head and sighs, settles in his chair and watches his partner, hands steepled beneath his chin.

“You set this up, didn’t you?”

“Set what up?” The very picture of innocence. Yeah right.

“Yes, you know, ‘Lieutenant, are we going to Mr. Kamski this weekend?’” He pitches his voice higher and bats his eyelashes. 

Connor tilts his head to the side, LED spinning yellow, and Hank knows it’s a choice between lying or telling the truth.

“Oh, come on, Connor, don’t give me that bullshit, I’m not a child anymore!”

“Well, it is certainly hard to tell sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, you overgrown toaster?” He’s not really angry, more like amused at Connor’s attitude which the android so rarely openly displays.

“You needed to talk to the detective, so I provided a reason for that to happen. Your discussion has been successful, any further displeasure with my actions seems childish and unnecessary.” 

On one hand, he’s right, on the other hand, they definitely need to have that discussion about meddling again.

Hank glances at the stupid machine, who has somehow invaded his heart, sitting there with an “I’m being perfectly reasonable, please don’t be difficult” expression, and smiles.

“Thank you, Connor.”

“You’re welcome, Hank. I am glad to have helped”.

They finish their workday in comfortable silence.

 

\---

 

It is almost time for them to leave, all routine maintenance complete and Hank can’t do this anymore. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Elijah’s expression suggests he isn’t sure it’s a good idea, but he still nods and takes them to the study, leaving Connor in Chloe’s care. 

It is a big bright business room overlooking the lake, a perfect place for intimidation and displays of power, but Hank doesn’t care for any of it, barely even notices, his heart in his throat, hands unsteady. He goes to the window, movements slow, heavy, the weight of the years in his bones, and Elijah has never been one for patience.

“Well, Lieutenant? You wanted to tell me something, I assume it must be important if-”

“He asked me to call you.”

“Hm?” It is a quiet noise, not yet comprehending, and Hank stares at the blue expanse outside, terrified of seeing Elijah’s reaction to the next revelation.

“Cole. In the hospital.” 

“I see, thank you for telling me.” There is nothing in his expression to indicate any sort of an emotional reaction, and Hank turns around to better see the man’s face.

“Is that it?” Is that really the only reply he’s going to get? Hank knows it must be fake, after all, he’s seen the pictures, the keepsakes, but right now looking at Elijah it is so hard to believe that he cares. Hank supposes that is fair. They way he treated Elijah was...beyond words, and forgiveness, if it ever does come, should not come easy. 

“What else did you expect me to do? Cry? Rage? Throw my arms around you and proclaim my undying love? I think we’re past that last one, don’t you? As for the rest...” he turns away then, walks along polished shelves, looking at anything but Hank. “Over the years I have perfected the art of controlling those emotions, and I believe you are unlikely to witness them. I do not think you would care to know the contents of my mind at this moment. They would probably not seem very appealing.”

He faces Hank and smiles, a smile without a soul behind it, a mere formality.

“Now, if there was nothing else-”

“I miss him.” It falls out almost against his will, and the rest of the thought follows along just as smoothly, “I miss  _ you  _ too.”

“This is admirable, to have those sentiments after so many years, Lieutenant. I am, however, unsure why you are telling me this.”

“Because you have to know.”

“And what is it about this information that makes it necessary for me?”

“Elijah-”

“Oh, so you  _ do  _ remember my name! How exciting! Have you remembered anything else from our fascinating past that you chose to so conveniently forget?”

There it is. The hurt. Well hidden, but still very much visible - his displeasure with the charade of them not knowing each other. But even though Hank knows it’s there, he still has no idea how to navigate this conversation, not when Elijah is so...artificial, almost like one of his undeviated creations.

“I...Uh...Wanted to apologize.” And now that he’s here he doesn’t know how to continue, because there are no words capable of expressing the depth of his regret, but Elijah doesn’t even give him time to think, a quick-witted reply at the ready.

“And why is it that you only decided to apologize now? Not in all the years we haven’t kept in touch?” The man studies him, just long enough for Hank to open his mouth and then continues, “Let me guess...Chloe showed you something you mistook for lingering affection and you got sentimental?” He shakes his head, fabricated amusement on display. “I really should have done a better job with erasing her memory. I have at the time been...distraught and distracted, as you might understand. And busy with...other little projects that required my immediate attention.”

Yeah, like creating a sentient species.

“She asked me herself, you know. To erase you. She was quite upset at your sudden departure. For a while, so was I. It is so convenient not having to worry about those emotions anymore. Makes work much more efficient, you see.” He’s clearly enjoying the effect his words produce, and it’s time to get this discussion over with.

“Listen, I wanted to give you something. It’s-”

“Oh, how intriguing! It is not another badge, is it? I already have one of those, you see.” 

And  _ that  _ hurts. This is probably the most painful thing Elijah has done yet, and that includes training a gun on Chloe, and the only thing Hank wants to do is turn around and leave, but the man in front of him is still talking, “As a matter of fact,-”

“Would you just fucking listen for one second?” One last attempt.

Elijah’s face lights up as if he’s delighted. 

“Oh so there is some of the fire left! I was starting to worry you’re getting old.”

He is. Old and so fucking tired of all this shit.

“That’s it,” He throws his hands up, a universal gesture for giving up, “I’m fucking done with this circus.”

Hank turns around and heads for the door, the voice behind him loud and amused. 

“Have a good night, Lieutenant! Drive safe, I hear roads can be dangerous!”

“Yeah, yeah. Call me if you need to talk.” 

He doesn’t look back.

\---

That could have gone better. 

He doesn’t remember leaving the house, doesn’t think about taking Connor, just finds himself getting into his car and slamming his hand on the wheel, and then he’s driving off, nowhere in particular, simply far far away. 

He feels that beating Elijah might have been preferable to talking. Maybe a little violence could have done something to break through the shell of indifference. 

Hank knows he has to try again,  knows he can't let this go, because there is a person behind that facade, a person who is suffering, a person he wants to help. And not just because he feels guilty,  but because that person is Elijah, and there is no one in the world who is more important, and now with the haze of alcohol no longer clouding his mind it is more obvious than ever. 

\---

The call catches him by the front door, and he’s struck with a sudden realization that he forgot to take Connor with him. 

“Hey, Connor, uh...”

“It's about Elijah.”

Fucking Elijah. 

“What about him? He kick you out or something?” 

“He got into a car crash.”

Hank’s heart stops, and the first impulse he has is to end the call and go straight for the gun. Instead, he grabs the doorframe as hard as he can and stays silent, unable to speak,  to think, and suddenly there's not enough air no matter how deep he inhales, and this is a panic attack, his first one in years. He slides down the wall to the ground, gasping, panting, trying to control his erratic breathing, and there's a loud ringing noise, which turns out to be the phone, still clutched in his desperate grip, and he doesn't even remember hanging up.

He wants to throw it out, take it apart, break it - anything to shut the offending sound, but he coughs and wheezes and struggles to hit accept, hands shaking, vision blurring. 

“He's alive, Hank!”

He’s not sure he's heard that right, blames his imagination, and Connor is still talking, so he attempts to concentrate. For Connor, he will always try. 

“Everything will be alright, I'm coming over now, and I'll take you to the hospital if you want, you hear me?”

The only thing he reliably understands is hospital, and the rest is irrelevant. “Which one?”

“Hank, you are in no state to go alone, I’ll be there shortly and-”

“Which. One.” 

Connor tells him, clearly hesitant, but there’s no time to waste. Now that Hank knows Elijah is alive, there is suddenly hope, and with it comes a burst of strength which can end at any moment, so he pulls himself up, stumbles to the car and almost falls behind the wheel, heartbeat wild, breaths uneven.

it is probably the longest drive of his life, and then there are white corridors and the smell of fear, of loss, of  _ despair _ , and his head is full of nightmares all over again.

Elijah's in bed, probably unconscious, and Hank hurries to his side, grabs the arm and presses his fingers to the pulse point, to make sure the heart is still beating, never relying on the fancy machines, only ever trusting himself. 

Elijah is alive, and that is the only thing matters, so he sinks into the chair, takes one cool hand into his and falls into an exhausted sleep.

\---

When he opens his eyes, Elijah is already awake, and he is  _ smiling _ , his smile soft and warm, just like it used to be, and Hank  _ doesn't understand _ . He sits up slowly, carefully, scared to break the unexpected calm, searching for any falseness to the man's expression, finding none. 

“You're alright. “

He's the one who expects to say this phrase,the one who was worried, who had a fucking panic attack,so why is Elijah the one who sounds relieved? Unless it's the drugs. It must be the drugs. He pats his sides then his knees, as if checking for injuries and then replies, trying to keep his voice light and jovial. 

“Still alive and kicking.”

It seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Elijah's face instantly transforms, and  _ there's _ the displeasure,  _ there's _ the annoyance. 

“Do not ever joke like that again.”

What?

He's staring now and he can't help it, because nothing seems to be going the way he expected. 

“Do you know how I got into the car crash?” He's not looking at Hank anymore, staring at his own hand on the covers, as if it holds answers to all his problems. “I followed you. Tried to check that you were alright.Turned off the autopilot to be faster. I suppose calling might have been easier, but I doubt you would have picked up the phone, not straight after the things I've said.It's a good thing I have a sturdy car, isn't it. I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking. Got away with a concussion.”

He has to say something right now, because the man in front of him could have killed himself, and that thought is as terrifying now as it was hours ago when he first thought it. 

“I'm sorry.”

Elijah smirks, just a little rise at the corner of his mouth, “This was not your fault, only my own stupid decision. I was… worried.”  There seems to be a different sentiment hiding behind that last word, but Hank doesn't care, because he didn't apologize for the accident. 

“Not about the crash. About...me.”

He reaches for the hand he's been holding in his sleep, hestant, and Elijah doesn't pull away, doesn't protest, just looks at Hank, his eyes fever-bright, and maybe that's the concussion, but maybe… maybe it isn't. 

Why?” A single word full of desperation, a question that has been left unanswered for almost four years, and Hank knows his reasons are not enough, but Elijah deserves to hear them anyway.

“I was scared. Fucking terrified. Running was...easier than talking.” 

Now with the cool facade already gone there’s nothing to shield Elijah's emotions, and he is absolutely devastated, anguish and grief and heartache all on the surface, visible, almost  _ tangible _ , and  _ Hank did this,  _ he is  _ responsible.  _

“I'm so sorry.” He pulls the hand closer, kisses the palm, the fingers, his movements shaky and reverent,  then lays his forehead against the knuckles and prays to be forgiven. 

“Henry...” It is quiet and broken and it’s his  _ name. _

There's a light touch against his head, and then Elijah is stroking his hair, at first unsure, then a little stronger, but still gentle, and it feels like home. 

He wants to embrace the man, to erase the space between them, wrap his arms around the person he loves and just breathe together, but they are still in a hospital,  and Elijah is still bedridden, even though it is probably mostly a technicality. 

“I love you, Elijah.” It isn't easy to say, not after all the time, not after everything that has happened, but it is important, and Elijah needs to know. 

The hand in his hair stills for a beat and then resumes it's motion, along with a whisper, “Please tell me tomorrow.”

He does. 

He stays with Elijah for the remainder of his hospital stay, and then takes him home in an automated taxi Connor insists on ordering, and every single day he starts with the same words, the same confession, the same  _ truth _ . 

 

\---

 

The next time Hank returns to the house, he barely has time to get out if the car before the front door opens and then Chloe is running to him, smiling,  _ glowing, _ and the moment she’s in his arms something in his heart slots into place, some missing piece that has been finally restored. She is warm and solid and so achingly familiar that he has to close his eyes and simply breath, enjoying her touch, her scent, her very presence.

He doesn’t know how long they stand like this, his face bent to her golden hair, but eventually she relaxes her grip and leans back a little, just enough to look at him, and there are tears in her eyes.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

Hank doesn’t think he’s ever heard such a voice from her before, and he pulls her closer again, kisses the crown of her head, whispers quiet words she’s sure to pick up.

“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.”

“Henry, why did you leave us?” It is broken and lost, and he holds her tighter in a desperate attempt to take the pain away even though it doesn't work that way,  not even with androids. 

“I'm sorry, Chloe.”

“Don’t ever do that again. Don't ever make me want to forget you.”

The fabric of his shirt rips where she's been gripping it too tightly, and Chloe moves away, an apology on her lips, and at that point there's a bang of the car door, and then Connor is standing by their side, his face open and friendly.

“Good morning, Chloe,” His eyes stray to the rip which is visible now that Chloe has stepped away, and then 

“Good morning, Connor. I’m happy to see you.” She wipes her cheeks and dusts off her immaculate dress, warm and sunny and pleasant. “Let’s not keep Elijah waiting.”

They walk to the house together, Hank slightly farther ahead, the androids quietly conversing behind him, and he could try and participate in their discussion, but his attention is taken up with watching Elijah, who is waiting by the entrance, face peaceful and content. 

It is an expression Hank has never hoped to see again, not on this person, and he is mesmerized. He wants to pin Elijah to the wall and beg forgiveness with his hands, with his lips, wants to share his feelings through touch like one of those goddamned machines - his regret and his love, wants to show just how much he cares, how much he  _ hopes _ . 

“Good morning, Henry.”

The androids have already left into the house and now it's just the two of them, Elijah studying him, amused, and there is so much he needs to say that the only thing that comes out is “Hey.”

“Eloquent as always, aren’t you?”

He ducks his head to hide a grin. “Only with you, Elijah, only with you.” 

“I am flattered,” he turns a little, hand stretched towards the door in open invitation, “Shall we?”

The moment Hank crosses the threshold, he notices something is different - it seems warmer, cozier and somehow more familiar even though nothing has visibly changed, and it takes him a second to realize that it’s the smell. It doesn’t smell like just a house anymore, it smells like  _ their home _ .

 

\---

 

They go to the cemetery together. It is not a happy trip, not by a long shot, but they walk hand in hand,  and when the man by his side starts crying, Hank is there to share his coat and his embrace, and Elijah doesn’t pull back, doesn’t tense, just leans closer and shakes. They are not completely alright, but they have time.

 

\----

 

“So, Hank…”

“Jeffrey.”

They are in the captain’s office, and Hank doesn’t know what he’s doing here without Connor, considering they’ve just finished with their latest investigation. 

“There's this case we've been given. I'm thinking if putting Reed on it.” Jeff seems to be studying his expression, and he isn’t sure what is expected of him or how he’s supposed to react.

“Good choice. And?” 

“Thing is, it requires two people. Humans that is. God, this political correctness shit is complicated now. Not that it ever was simple.” He rubs his face, tired and stressed. “Anyway, what do you say?” 

“Huh?” To what?

“To working with him again?”

“With Reed?” 

“Jesus Christ, Hank, are you alright there?” Jeff’s expression is a little annoyed and a little concerned, and this conversation is obviously not going the way he planned. “ Maybe Connor overestimated your-”

“Connor?” 

“Yeah, he's the one who recommended I pair you up with Reed for this. Said he needs some solo field experience anyway.”

Sure he does, the meddler. But Hank is grateful. The thought of working with Gavin again fills him with warmth and pleasure, and he is ready, now more than ever, for that particular brand of insubordination, so different from Connor’s, yet so similar.

“I'd be happy to work with Detective Reed.” 

“You sure?” He doesn’t sound entirely convinced and that’s fair, he did just watch them snap at each other for three years.

“One hundred percent.” 

Jeff is squinting at him now, estimating something. “So you're doing better then? You  _ seem  _ better. “

“I am, Jeff. I'm...happy, I think.” He rubs the back of his neck, aware of just how many problems he has created over the years. “Thanks for...uh… being patient with me there. Must have been hard.”

“Don't mention it, Hank. That's what friends are for. Now go call your new partner here, we have a debriefing to get to.” 

He feels calm and content, like he finally belongs again, and when he looks over the precinct searching for Reed, he notices Connor watching, a small pleased smile on his goofy face. And Gavin is off by Chen’s desk, laughing at something she is saying, and it's a clean and free laugh, just as he remembers from years ago. 

God but he loves his stupid boys. 

 

\---

 

This time when he opens his eyes Elijah is already sitting by his side, somehow tense and expectant, and it takes Hank no time at all to throw off the haze of sleep and pull himself up against the headboard, Elijah watching his every move.

He wants to start with the words that have become their usual morning routine, a quiet reminder and a reassurance, but a hand drawing circles on his covered knee distracts him, and then Elijah is already talking, and the only thing left to do is listen.

“I'd like to tell you a story.”

Hank stops breathing. The phrase is painfully familiar, and he doesn’t know if it is that way on purpose or as a simple coincidence.

“As you might imagine, after that accident I have... Not been quite myself.  I have...built an android in your likeness. And another one in Cole’s. I have tried to get over what happened by replacing you with one of my creations, and it didn’t work, didn’t fit, didn’t  _ feel  _ right, and even though they looked like perfect replicas they could never be enough...Not after the real thing.” He’s not even looking at Hank anymore, just stares at the bed, tracing mindless patterns into the grey silk. “They couldn’t help, so I took them apart. Little by little, piece by tiny piece I have destroyed something that was supposed to make me happy. I have reworked and remolded and repurposed every part of them. Except for this.” He reaches for the drawer by the bed and pulls out a thirium pump regulator - grey and empty, lifeless. 

He twirls the pump in his hands,  dips his fingers into grooves, traces little imperfections, and Hank is staring, mesmerized, almost spellbound.

”You've said before like you've felt I gave you your heart, and you broke it. I am imperfect and do not possess a spare heart to give,  but maybe this will be enough, at least as a symbol.” He stretches forward and places the pump in Hanks limp hand, which comes alive under his touch and closes around the plastic. “It is much more durable anyway.” Elijah smiles a self-deprecating smile and continues, this time looking straight at Hank’s face, cataloging his reactions.

“I do not have another heart, but what little of it is left is yours, Henry. Will you marry me?”

Hank’s thoughts stutter in shock, and then he reaches and pulls Elijah close, head pillowed into the crook of his shoulder.

“I don’t want you to see my face right now.” It’s a little unfair, and he wants to apologize, but everything inside of him is breaking, pain and relief and hope all tangled together stealing his breath, drowning him. He knows he's crying, quiet tears of a man who's long used to suffering in solitude, and they are not tears of sorrow, not completely. 

It takes him a couple of seconds to collect himself and let the man go, but Elijah doesn’t move, just stays there, waiting for an answer which should be obvious.

“You sure?” Hank’s voice is rough and scratchy, and it's another echo of their previous conversation, but the question is sincere. He cannot fathom why this incredible person would still want him that much that close after everything that has happened.

Elijah nuzzles into Hank’s neck, then moves lower, presses a kiss into the grove by the collarbone, and after a pause bites the shoulder. It is a little angry, desperate, possessive - all the things burning beneath Elijah’s skin, and Hank relaxes into it, breathes a little slower, while his heart speeds up. 

Elijah lets go, soothes the mark with his tongue, places a lighter bite close by, and this is the way he is sometimes now - sharper, stronger, with a deeper hunger, and Hank doesn’t mind the change, understands that necessity of being in control after so much time spent broken.

The eyes that rise to meet his are serious and dark.

“I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure, Henry. That a yes then?”

Hank reaches forward and runs his fingers through long flowing hair, caresses the line of the jaw.

“It is yes now and it will always be yes for as long as I breathe, Elijah. I am not leaving ever again.”

Elijah straddles him then, still his favorite position to be in, one of the things to remain unchanged when so many things are different.

“Good. ”He leans in and kisses Hank, a soft tender touch full of affection. “I do not plan on letting you go.”

“Did you actually think I could say no?” There's genuine surprise in the quiet question, and Elijah smiles, warm and fond.

“I don't know, you're the stupid policeman in this relationship.”

This is the moment Hank knows that one way or another they will be alright. 

Together. 

 

\---

 

_ He feels more present now,  more aware, alive. His heart is beating,  his blood is following and he doesn't feel cold most of the time,  not anymore.  _

_ He is… happy, and even though the feeling is still a little foreign and a little uncomfortable he welcomes it and lets it spread.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it :)


End file.
